The Treehouse
by BabyOfTheRails
Summary: "The treehouse was… sacred."


Both of them were in that annoyingly MiNet blinded library, with their contacts and earplugs completely silent.

Occasionally Melody would blink her password out of habit and expect the vast amount of knowledge to be at her fingertips once again, only to have static cloud her vision and a shrill buzzing to block out what Zen was explaining.

She always gave away when this was happening. Even though it wouldn't do any good, she would shake her head as if to clear the grey electronic snow from her eyesight. The boy lying on the floor next to her would then momentarily stop talking in that animated way of his, roll his eyes at her, and offer a _much needed _sarcastic comment.

To which she would roll her eyes back, and then close her eyes for a second, causing the static to dissipate.

And then they would fall into the lecture again, Zen taking the lead.

Today's lesson was Human Growth Hormone (or HGH), and his explanations or the regular out-loud thought were enough to keep her grasping to every word.

These types of conversations weren't necessarily one-sided, with Melody offering tidbits of information and plenty of questions that Zen would immediately include or answer. Zen just took the lead most of the time. Being wonderfully nerdy – especially in the case of HGH, after all, this wasn't the first time they had discussed this topic and it definitely wouldn't be the last – was when Zen was at his best. It was his _zone._

There were other types of conversations, though. Conversations where they were both at their worst. Conversations where fear and confusion were the main emotions _both _of them were experiencing – though Zen wasn't one to stay confused for long. He would research the crap that their parents would tell them to stay away from, and if the information that he needed was password-protected, he would _hack that crap._

This was one of the reasons that Melody admired Zen, though there were _many_ reasons.

Another type of conversation were the ones that were sort of about… everything. They would talk about the most random of stuff, and everything they thought about said stuff.

They might gossip like nubie-pubie girls at a slumber party, or debate the pros and cons of something incredibly pointless. Or even just… talk. And just say the first thing that came to either of their minds at any given moment.

Melody actually enjoyed these types of conversations though. It was… nice. Even though it got kinda weird sometimes. Zen had this way of making everyone spill their secrets, even if Melody didn't keep secrets from him in the first place.

His presence was like truth serum; she would just keep blabbing and blabbing no matter how awkward, embarrassing, or even gross things got.

Like how it's been two years since she signed her _hopefully first _– as in, there _will be_ more offers down the line – Pro contract and for some mother humping reason, the Jaydens won't just bite the bullet and just _pick _some RePro Sperm.

Does it even _matter_ anymore if this random stranger that she's going to bump with looks like the "dad" or not?

If Jaydens get their snot-nosed brat right on schedule, even with minordents in its skull, then for them everything is fine and dandy and they can rejoice with their new big ol' happy family. Does it really matter _her _talents or _her _ability to speak perfect Japanese while on a pogo-stick?

And that her entire life has been basically centered on her accumulating these various talents so that she'll produce "valuable" preggs.

She keeps working at it, though. Mostly because of the promise of college education, money, and of course sharing her "hospitable womb" with this humped-up, dying out world.

But she just wonders when _people _started being bred like horses, with better traits producing better preggs.

And so, she has three years, _three_, before the Virus sets in and her baby-cannon turns from "hospitable womb" to "hospitable womb".

Three years that the Jaydens are taking their sweet time in letting tick away… tick… tock.

Zen is almost the exact same as her.

He offers his deepest, darkest secrets, including a reference to one… Boo Boo. A girl bot that he still has, despite the fact he turned 15 a few months ago and most guys his age are discarding the bot and bringing on the real deal.

Other stuff too.

Anyway, it was always the plastic treehouse that they always met in to share secrets like this. Nowhere else.

The treehouse was… sacred.

Zen had just about finished his spiel, and shifted slightly, the skin that wasn't covered by his t-shirt lightly grazed her forearm.

The fell into a comfortable silence, and Melody just stared at the ceiling of the plastic treehouse. Slightly worn by age, anthromorph versions of caterpillars with gigantic smiles stared down back at her.

The treehouse is pretty small, so no matter any way you slice it, in order to fit the two fifteen-year-olds they had to be touching in some way.

So when they had arrived here, they laid down on the slightly carpeted floor and shimmied in such a way that their butts rested almost against the plastic wall, and their legs stretched upward, resting on it.

Their sides were pressed together, and the top of their heads grazed the opposite wall of their feet.


End file.
